


Meditations

by Tam_Cranver



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/pseuds/Tam_Cranver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book does a little thinking at the abbey in "Ariel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meditations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ff_friday "no dialogue" challenge on LJ. I own none of the characters used here, nor am I using them for profit; they belong to Joss Whedon and company, and they're used here only for entertainment.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.

It's easier to think about God here. Here is a quiet, reverent peace utterly unlike the messy, loud chaos aboard Serenity. Here one does not have to worry about thieves and pirates, for who would bother to rob the aesthetic emptiness of the monastery? Here one does not have to grumble about the lack of fresh food, because the monastery has a vegetable garden.

The courtyard here is beautiful, the brothers unimposing and understanding. He enjoys the feeling of warm dirt on his hands as he digs through the little patch of herbs. Somehow it is still not the same as the stuffy corridors of the ship, the noisy camaraderie of the kitchen. The walls of the monastery are cold and impersonal compared to the dully gleaming walls of the ship. There's a word for this feeling-—he's homesick-—but it frightens him, because no man of God should be at home in a den of criminals.

Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold…

It is so easy to fall back into old patterns; to rely on intimidation and threats instead of logic and morals, to let cynicism overtake faith. It is easy to tell oneself to hold fast, but it's not quite as simple to preach to an abandoned flock. Each of them has his own bone to pick with the Lord: this one shot by a man of the law, this one left to die on a deserted battlefield, this one tortured because of her gifts, this one taken from wealth and a loving family to a world of fear and distrust a lifetime away. He can preach to himself; he has repented of his sins, and he has been redeemed, and he has come to accept what life has given him. What can he say to those who cannot accept their lots, and whose lots he could not accept?

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.

There is so much darkness in his life that he thought he had left behind. The darkness of space, vast and empty and terribly enticing. The darkness of the nooks and crannies of the ship, and the shadows its features cast on its inhabitants. And, he reflects with a shudder, remembering the feel of cold metal in his hand and the smell of blood, the darkness in men's hearts.

He prays for an end to his doubt, but he doubts it will be answered. He prays for answers, but he's not sure what to ask. He prays for serenity, but already his mind is with the ship and its beautiful, flawed souls in the black.


End file.
